


left your game at home

by tagteamme



Series: tagteamme's niche sports AUs [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bowling AU, Fluff, He finds bowling and along the way he finds himself, He tries so hard, Humor, Keith Tries, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Pining, Romance, a shitpost...with heart, it's not that deep, just kidding, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12630408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Keith does a lot of stupid things to impress his crush. Signing up for a bowling tournament's on top of that list.





	left your game at home

**Author's Note:**

> I really want to write a serious post s4 fic but I also really wanna write dumb AUs

Keith’s not very forthright about it, but he has been burning for Shiro for a good part of their friendship.

It probably started when Shiro made a needlessly big show about taking Keith out for his first legal drink as soon as he turned twenty-one; it may have even started months before that when Takashi Shirogane, star student and the well-mannered light of everyone’s eye, got Keith a fake I.D so that they could get absolutely trashed for Allura’s birthday. 

It could even have started when a surly eighteen-year old Keith got plucked out of a street fight by a kind and unfairly well-built passerby. It wasn’t that Keith was scrappy to begin with. He was just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unlike everyone else, Shiro seemed to understand that, and is one of Keith’s first and only friends to not constantly tease him about the anger problems that he doesn’t actually have.   

Keith’s not thinking about that right now though. He should be, because it’s probably a major factor in why this situation is happening in the first place. Keith’s thinking about how, in this moment, Shiro looks like God parted the clouds and placed Keith in front of him as a potential answer to his prayers despite the fact that Keith may be kind of lying. It’s a look that Keith’s going to tuck away forever, especially since he’s about to agree to something monumentally stupid. 

Shiro’s face is _so_ painfully earnest, his eyes glimmering in hope. 

“Yeah,” Keith says as nonchalantly as possible. “I’ll be on your team.” 

Shiro lets out a loud “Yes!” and wraps Keith in a tight hug, lifting him up a little in excitement. Keith tries to ignore the feeling of being absolutely fucked because Keith— Keith is absolute _shit_ at bowling. 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Keith spends hours staring at bowling videos. He reads the Wikipedia pages on the rules and scoring methods of bowling. At one point, he’s not sure if an article is informing about a technique or trashing it. At work the next day, he ignores spreadsheets and forms in order to watch bowling videos and to learn what the difference between recreational, league, and professional bowling is. The walls of text make his eyes burn and he understands fuck-all.

Originally, Shiro had just been complaining to Keith about being down a man on his bowling team and freaking out about it because a huge competition was coming up a few counties over. Shiro has other, bigger responsibilities in life, but Shiro also once comforted Keith when his favourite band broke up before his third year finals so Keith tried to listen empathetically.

Off-handedly, Shiro had asked him if he knew how to bowl. Keith, occupied with thinking about whether or not he had left the milk out of the fridge, had said a “Yeah, sure.” Shiro’s face had lit up like the sun, and Keith found himself suddenly agreeing to give up the entirety of the next weekend to drive four hours to participate in the (supposedly great) Bowls of Marmora, the biggest league-level competition in state. 

Keith isn’t completely ignorant about bowling; he’s watched a couple of Shiro’s games, cheering him on from the sidelines. Or as much as he could, before Pidge told him to shut up because their star player was trying to concentrate. Shiro had picked up bowling a year before he met Keith, but it was one of his interests that he had initially always been strangely shy about.

Keith has a vague idea of how to bowl. It was the popular go-to birthday party activity in elementary school and he’s pretty sure the most he was able to ever take down was three pins in one turn. But he’s never bowled with Shiro, and he’s determined to not completely embarrass himself.  Not when Shiro’s asked Keith to be the fourth member on his bowling team, because Lance tried exiting through a date’s second floor balcony and subsequently broke his arm.

Normally the team makes do when they are down one member, but this is also the year that Pidge decided to take a sabbatical with her brother. So now it’s Shiro, Hunk, Allura and Keith, with Allura’s uncle and Lance tagging along for the competition. 

Keith scrolls through pages and pages of articles outlining tips and tricks. Bowling seems fun recreationally but from the looks of it, as soon as Keith participates in anything even slightly competitive, he’s going to get his ass kicked up and down the lanes.

The work day ends and Keith knows that by now he should probably tell Shiro that he’s actually kind of incompetent at bowling and that he’s so, so sorry for making him believe otherwise. A week will hopefully be enough time for them to find someone new and hopefully, it’ll be enough time for Shiro to forgive Keith. So Keith resolves to call Shiro as soon as he gets back to his apartment. 

Or maybe a little later, when he figures out what to say. Keith’s not the biggest fan of letting people down, and though he knows Shiro will probably take it in stride, part of him is still extremely nervous. He’s pacing his living room, wondering what to say, when the doorbell rings in his apartment. He presses the button on the intercom, and goes “Hello?” 

“Hey Keith, got a minute?” 

Of course it’s Shiro. Keith buzzes him in and a minute later, Shiro’s at the door with a huge grin and a black plastic bag. Keith accepts the bag and pulls out a custom black and white polo shirt. It’s got  _KEITH_ stitched over the breast pocket in red lettering, a strangely drawn image of a Transformer on the chest, and _TEAM BOWLTRON_ on the back. 

It’s perhaps the ugliest thing Keith has ever seen, and he cannot believe that the man he’s in love with willingly wears this shirt on a regular basis. Keith’s also not sure how Shiro managed to get a shirt like that custom made in the span of a twenty-four hours but Shiro is nothing if not resourceful. 

Keith accepts it with a smile, and invites Shiro in for dinner. He fries two steaks for them and they put on a movie, squishing on to the lone loveseat in Keith’s living room. They doze off mid-movie, legs tangled underneath Keith’s old comforter, and Keith knows he’s going to have to see this through. 

 

* * *

 

Accepting his fate, Keith’s main objective shifts to somehow become good enough at bowling in the next few days so that when he sends the ball down the lane, he doesn’t go flying with it. He contemplates briefly asking someone already on the team to help him out, but he knows that’s a bad idea because it’ll make its way back to Shiro. 

Keith’s sure if he brings back a bowling ball to practice at home, his neighbours will happily kill him while he sleeps.  So he uses an old soccer ball and tries to knock down paper towel rolls. It works, marginally, and for an entire evening Keith practices, tricking himself into thinking that it’s good enough.

When he goes to bed, he watches a video Shiro’s linked him of the _TOP 10 BOWLING FAILS OF ALL TIME_ along with an enthusiastic message reading _one more week!!_

Keith falls to sleep clutching his phone and smiling at the picture Shiro’s sent of the team from last year, where he’s scribbled a red circle on an empty spot in the photo and has labeled it _KEITH GOES HERE_.  

Keith dreams that he shows up to the Great Bowls of Marmora with only a soccer ball that stops halfway down the lane. Shiro and Hunk burst into tears, Allura grows ten times her size as she starts yelling at Keith, and Lance wins the MVP trophy. Keith wakes up in a cold sweat and he realizes that he’s going to have to get serious about bowling if he wants to consider reaching average. 

 

* * *

 

Keith calls in sick the next day. It’s the Monday before the tournament, and his boss asks him with a suspicious tone if he’s trying to take a long weekend. Keith’s long perfected sounding both sick and indignant at the same time, so his boss lets him go after two minutes of listening to Keith tell him in between hacking coughs that no, he actually is sick, and can provide a doctor’s note if needed.  

Shiro and his team normally play at the Alleys of Altea. It sounds more like a mystical destination than a glow in the dark bowling alley, and Keith’s not going to step foot in it. Allura’s family owns the alley, and he knows as soon as he even breathes in the direction of the building, Allura is going to sense it. 

He goes online and sees there’s another bowling alley on the other end of town. It’s a little smaller, but there’s a direct bus that goes there that’s only a five-minute walk from Keith’s place. So he throws on an oversized black hoodie and digs out a ratty old backpack because he figures that he also needs to buy his own bowling ball. He’s going to try and buy a second hand ball because he wants it to have some wear and tear and for it to generally look like he’s used it before. He also had googled the prices for new bowling balls while eating breakfast, and his eyes had bugged a little at the prices. 

He steps off the bus at the slightly decrepit strip mall. He’s a little unsure of himself, but tries to project as much confidence and determination as possible as he steps into Bowlivan’s Bowling. He's instantly assaulted by the smell of oil, French fries, and shoe disinfectant.  

The alley is mostly empty, save for a group of older men hanging out in a corner as they take turns lazily rolling the ball. Keith books a lane for himself, props his phone up against a can of cream soda, and attempts to put all of yesterday’s practice into use. 

Keith completes an entire game, knocking down no more than one pin per turn. He’s had so many gutter balls that the group of men have taken notice. Keith’s determined though, and he’s taken a sick day specifically to train his bowling skills. He doesn’t like wasting time. 

His subsequent games fare no better, and when he goes up to the desk to rent the lane for a little longer, the man gives him a sympathetic look. Upon closer inspection, Keith sees that the man’s name tag reads _KOLIVAN OP MANAGER/OWNER_. Keith internally groans a thousand times. 

“You seem to be very determined,” the man says casually when Keith comes up yet another time to extend his lane booking.  

“I’m practicing for a tournament,” Keith grunts as he puts a couple of more bills on the counter. The man raises his bushy eyebrows. 

“You’re on a team?” The man asks and Keith frowns deeply at the surprised tone. “What tournament?” 

“Bowls of Marmora,” Keith says, the name rolling off his tongue weirdly. Keith’s pretty sure that there is a larger bank of terms available for bowling-related names, and he wonders why no one seems to use more than one or two. But Keith also barely knows shit about bowling, so he’s not one to talk.  

“Oh,” Kolivan says thoughtfully. “We’re one of the event sponsors.” 

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not even sure if he actually cares.  

“That’s pretty cool,” he says, trying to sound interested. Kolivan nods thoughtfully. 

“I have someone coming in to take over the stand in five minutes,” Kolivan says. “I can teach you some things if you want. It might help a little.”  

Keith raises his eyebrow and thinks that that’s a lot to offer to a random person. 

“Watching you play made me feel fundamentally sad,” Kolivan says and. Well. Fair enough.  

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro and his team have nothing on the dead seriousness that Kolivan brings to bowling. He had been a professional bowler, a celebrity even, until his retirement and subsequent purchase of the bowling alley. Kolivan keeps the place looking the way it does for the authentic bowling experience, and despite it being a complete dump, it’s the hotbed for up and coming bowling talent. This all sort of flies over Keith’s head, but he appreciates Kolivan taking the time to teach him anyways.  

Kolivan is strict, _so_ strict. He drills Keith on how to hold the ball, the perfect way to flick his wrist, and the appropriate stance he needs to take in relation to his height and body structure. It’s methodical and Keith appreciates Kolivan’s no nonsense approach. 

It doesn’t mean Keith fares any better though. He’s not sure why he’s spectacularly failing at bowling; Keith normally picks up new skills fast enough, and with a little dedication, develops a pretty decent proficiency. It seems that he has met his match, because though he bowls a split near the end of the time with his lane, it’s a fluke that he isn’t able to repeat, and Kolivan’s stoic expression is folding in a little.

“Don’t be disheartened” Kolivan places a hand on Keith’s head. Keith feels like he’s five. “You, if anything, are at least showing some passion.”

“I just need to be good enough for the tournament,” Keith mumbles, and Kolivan gives him a sympathetic look.

“You’re welcome back any time,” He says. “I hope you’re somewhat successful.”

Keith thanks him for the invite before he heads back outside. He had asked Kolivan about buying a bowling ball, and Kolivan had agreed to lend him one for the weekend. Keith’s not quite sure why Kolivan took such a liking to Keith, but Keith also just rented an entire lane to himself for most of the day.

Keith checks the time and sees a couple of text messages. One’s from Allura, forwarding him a picture of an angry chihuahua in an ugly wig, and another’s from Lance, forwarding him the same image but with the added caption of: _THIS YOU???_. Two are from Shiro, asking when Keith gets off work and if Keith wants to grab food because Shiro’s feeling too lazy to cook.

Keith figures he can save on bus fare and calls Shiro.  Shiro picks up within the first ring.

“Hey,” Keith says. “Still wanna get food? I’m free right now.” 

“Sure do,” Shiro says. “I’ll be at yours in fifteen?”

“Uh…” Keith trails off, looking around outside. He doesn’t want to get picked up from Bowlivan’s, because it’ll be a dead giveaway. “I’m actually close to the diner right now. Sal’s, I think?”

Keith’s making a guess, but he’s been to Sal’s before and he’s pretty sure it’s only a ten-minute walk away from where he is right now.

“Sal’s?”

“Don’t make me say the first part of it,” Keith begs and Shiro chuckles.

“Sure. I’ll meet you there then,” Shiro says and hangs up.

Before Keith leaves, Kolivan takes his number, and texts him a link to his Pinterest board, where he’s collected encyclopedic levels of bowling puns and information.

“No one else can know about this,” Kolivan says, voice as grave as ever as Keith nods furiously. “This is precious knowledge.”

 

* * *

 

 

Keith sprints to the diner so that when the bell rings and Shiro opens the door, he’s already sitting at a table with two coffees and a slice of cherry pie to split.

“So that’s where my sweater went,” Shiro grins instead of saying hello, nodding towards Keith.

“Stop leaving your stuff at my house,” Keith tells him before flipping open the menu.

Shiro gets a Yorkshire breakfast, while Keith gets an omelet bigger than his face. Like always, Keith and Shiro piece out just under half their meal to the other.

“Why are you around here?” Shiro asks, swiping some omelet through the tomato sauce. “Did you take the day off work?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies, starting to rack his brain for an excuse as to why he’s sitting in a diner when his work hours aren’t over yet. He really can’t think of an answer, and he feels like he’s been staring at Shiro while looking for one for too long, so he folds up half the egg on a fork and shoves it in his mouth. Shiro nods along like Keith has given him a proper answer, and Keith feels a little fond.

“You should've told me you were ditching work,” Shiro says, gently nudging Keith’s shin with his own foot. “We could’ve hung out.”

“It was a last minute decision,” Keith replies as a piece of omelet drops onto his chin. “I just had some stuff I had to get done in the area, and I figure I’d take the day for it.”

“What are you doing after this?” Shiro asks. “Want to go bowling? We can get some practice in before the tournament.”

Keith has a sudden flashback to an hour ago, where he’s practically throwing the bowling ball in frustration, and it goes down the gutter of the lane beside his. 

“Can we do it day after?” Keith asks. “I have some stuff I have to do for work since I didn’t show up today, and I have an appointment tomorrow.”

His appointment is going to be tailing it straight from work to Bowlivan’s, and staying there till the place closes. For a brief moment, Keith can’t believe that he’s sacrificing all his free time to do a crash course in _bowling_ of all things, but he remembers the enthusiasm that Shiro had when he shoved that abomination of a team shirt into Keith’s hands. He sees Shiro right now, looking hopefully at Keith as he shovels beans into his mouth. 

“You can come over for a bit though if you want to hang out,” Keith offers. “I’ll have to work for most of it, but I don’t mind the company.”

Keith does not work for most of it; Shiro settles down at Keith’s TV to play video games while Keith tries to work, but he keeps getting distracted by all the sounds and Shiro swearing under his breath. He ends up joining Shiro on the couch, and they end up wrestling over who gets to be player one. Keith pulls Shiro’s ears till he gives up, and Shiro tries to flick him in between his eyebrows even though Keith’s already won and has commandeered both controllers. 

When Keith goes to sleep that night, he dreams about being so bad at bowling that Kolivan throws him down a lane instead. He careens towards the pins and even then, he can only knock down one.

 

* * *

 

Iverson chews his head off the next day because apparently, he was buying a shawarma across the street when Keith exited the diner with Shiro. Keith barely pays attention to it. He’s reading about the rise and fall of bowling as a sport on his computer as Iverson stands behind it, rattling on about one thing or another. He imagines Shiro in a sixties’ style pompadour with khakis and a black polo and ridiculously shined bowling shoes. He’s surrounded by models, as was apparently the custom with bowling superstars in the sixties.

In this mental image, Shiro only has eyes for up and coming bowling superstar, Keith. It’s Keith’s imagination, so he’s allowed himself to be a prodigy that shows up to competitions in studded black leather that squeaks every time he sends a bowl down the lane. The imagery gets away a little from Keith as he imagines them celebrating Keith’s unexpected win in a private suite at the Bellagio, but it’s better than listening to Iverson drone on about how Keith needs to show more responsibility, despite Keith being the most competent worker.

After Iverson is done his lecture and goes back to his own office, Keith sends him an e-mail informing him that he’ll be leaving early on Friday because he has to drive to a bowling tournament. He’s sorely tempted to ask why Iverson was on the other side of town near Sal’s instead of at work, but he leaves it.

When Keith gets off work, he ignores all texts from friends and heads straight to Bowlivan’s. It’s a little more crowded, but Kolivan’s apparently been playing darts for the past half an hour, so he’s more than happy to help Keith with his game again.

 

* * *

 

Every time Keith goes to Bowlivan’s, his determination multiplies. Kolivan gives him a five-minute lecture on how to hold the ball before Keith starts and Keith drinks in every word. He manages to knock down five pins in one turn, and Kolivan gives him a concerned look as he jumps around, whooping in joy.

He can’t repeat it, which disheartens Keith a little, but he keeps at it till he can regularly knock a couple down per turn. 

“You’re determined,” Kolivan notes. “I didn’t know it was such a big deal for you.”

Perhaps a few days ago it wasn’t.  But his friends have been talking more and more about the upcoming tournament, and Shiro’s made a Facebook event for their trip. Despite not going, Pidge has uploaded a banner of the team with Keith’s head poorly photoshopped onto her body. Keith knows he’s in deep with this, because he’s printed out a copy of the picture and stuck it in his cubicle at work.

Moreover, Shiro’s booked their hotel rooms already. Keith is sharing with Shiro, while Hunk and Lance take another room. Allura has her own room, because she claims that she cannot be stuck in close living quarters with so many smelly men. Keith knows it’s because she talks in her sleep; Pidge had found out and had told Hunk, and Hunk told everyone over a round of drinks. Coran’s rented a suite in one of the top-most floors, just because he can.

Keith doesn’t tell Kolivan any of this, nor does he tell Kolivan that every time he sees the team shirt, it looks just a little less ugly. He definitely does not tell him that the thought of sharing a room with Shiro sends his mind spinning, even though they are each other’s go-to roommates on road trips and camping excursions.

“I’ve learned to appreciate the sport,” is what Keith says, and Kolivan nods thoughtfully.

In the last game of the night, Keith finally, _finally_ bowls a spare. Kolivan’s face remains as stoic as ever but he treats Keith to a large plate of cheese fries on the house.

“Kitchen’s closing soon,” Kolivan says stiffly as Keith shovels them into his mouth. “We would have had to throw them out anyways.”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Shiro’s standing in front of the Alleys of Altea, tapping away on his phone. He’s got his college varsity jacket thrown over a pair of dark jeans and sneakers. White hair peaks out from underneath a backwards baseball cap and Keith feels like he looks unfairly good-looking for what is supposed to be just a simple outing to a bowling alley. Even though Keith’s still in his work clothes, shirt sleeves rolled up due to an unfortunate coffee accident early in the day, he feels severely underdressed compared to Shiro.

“Excited?” Shiro grins as Keith approaches him. “I can’t believe we’ve not played together yet.”

Not that Shiro hasn’t offered before; Keith’s just always had a legitimate excuse.  First it was school, then it was work, then it was a general need to not make an idiot out of himself in front of Shiro. Perhaps Keith should have taken up Shiro on one of his earlier offers—for one, he would have been able to see Shiro’s excitable face a lot earlier. Shiro would have also saw that Keith was inept, wouldn’t have asked him to be on the team, and Keith wouldn’t have to take sneaky lessons at a place called _Bowlivan’s_.

It’s Wacky Wings Wednesday, meaning both the wings and the lanes are half off. The place is jam packed, and there’s a waiting list for the lanes. Shiro puts his name down and Keith buys them three pounds of breaded wings, all dry because Shiro hates getting the sauce on his prosthetic. They find an unoccupied table in the corner of the dining area, and Shiro shifts his chair so that he’s beside Keith instead of directly across.

“I’m so pumped for this weekend,” Shiro says, chomping down on a wing. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

“How much fun can a bowling tournament be?”  Keith asks through a mouthful of chicken. The crumbs spray a little, but it’s a testament to how comfortable they are with each other that Keith brushes it off the table without a thought.

“You’ll be here this time,” Shiro nudges him. “So it’ll be the whole gang. Well, minus Pidge. But she’s been there before. You haven’t.” 

Keith makes a noise in agreement, opting to start on another wing instead of accidentally letting slip that the thought of the tournament makes his palms a little sweaty.

“This year I think we definitely have a chance at winning the trophy,” Shiro wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and shakes him gently.

It makes his palms _really_ sweaty.

They sit and chat easily, Keith keeping a nervous eye on the television near one of the counters displaying the names on the waitlist. Shiro gets bumped up three spots, and he cheerfully suggests they get Keith his shoes. Keith hates the smell of all bowling alley shoes; the disinfectant spray reduces the stench of foot cheese to a faint smell, but _it’s still there._

He’s practically vibrating as a stern looking attendant drops the shoes in front of him. This is the moment that Shiro’s going to discover that Keith may have fudged his bowling experience a little. That he may not lead the team to victory; that there is in fact, a large potential that Keith’s going to lead them to a crushing defeat instead.

Keith’s probably over thinking it _just_ a little, but mostly he’s just mad at himself for not getting a good grasp on this bowling thing as quickly he normally picks up any other thing. 

Keith takes his time slowly pulling the bowling shoes on, wincing at the slight warmth of the soles. Shiro has run into some other people he knows, so he chats idly with them while Keith gets ready. Keith spends an excruciatingly long amount of time tying the lace of one shoe before slipping on the other. He’s just about to slide his heel in when for once, things work in his favour, and the fire alarm goes off. 

Shiro frowns and looks around, as a general panic starts to bubble amongst the crowd at the alley. Keith immediately whips off his bowling shoes and jams on his regular ones. 

“We should leave,” he says, grabbing Shiro by the elbow. He passes the rental counter and drops the shoes, where the attendant remains seated with a bored expression. 

The crowd in the bowling alley files out onto the street, and Shiro looks a little put out that him and Keith aren’t able to go bowling.

“At least we have the tournament,” Shiro says wistfully as the red flashing lights of a fire truck pull up. According to a text from Allura, it was a kitchen fire caused by one of the new concession staff. Everyone was safe and intact, sans the dignity of the sixteen-year-old manning the burger grill.

“At least we have the tournament,” Keith mumbles back, trying not to sound both relieved and terrified at the same time.

“Hey, we could go to another alley,” Shiro says. “There’s another one a bit away. I think it’s called Bowlivan’s?”

Keith pales momentarily before shaking his head.

“Nah,” He says. “The wings made me feel kinda weird, so I think I’ll just go home.”

Shiro shrugs and offers him a ride. Keith accepts it and when Shiro drops him off, he texts Keith to make sure he drinks some ginger ale to settle his stomach.

Keith instead hops on his Netflix queue, where he’s managed to wrangle up all the bowling content possible. He knows the Big Lebowski’s a classic, but there’s a show that frames modern bowling as a raunchy, money-and-drug-fuelled sport and Keith can’t help but select it.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Keith’s last night before he has to drive out from the tournament. It’s also the last night he has to squeeze out any tips and techniques from Kolivan, because he’s a hundred percent sure that the inevitable embarrassment that will come from the upcoming weekend will be enough for him to never want to bowl after it.

“Don’t say that,” Kolivan says when Keith voices it out loud. “You can’t quit just when you are showing the bare beginnings of some potential.”

Keith frowns because he can’t tell whether or not that’s a compliment, but he takes it anyways.

He bowls alright; he manages a grand total of three spares in the evening and Kolivan’s lips twitch up an infinitesimal amount. The old men that have been a constant fixture since Keith started even let out a small whoop on his third spare, and Keith’s not sure if he should be proud or embarrassed. He decides to take his victories where he finds them.

At the end of the night, Kolivan presents him with a bowling ball. It sits heavy and purple in Keith’s hands, and has a faded _BOWLIVAN’S BOWLING_ stamped across the back.

“I want it back on Monday,” Kolivan grunts, giving Keith an awkward pat on his shoulder before turning on his heel and lumbering away.

Keith stares at the ball, turning it over in his hands. He hadn’t brought a backpack to the alley like he had the first time, so Keith has to carry the bowling ball on his lap when he busses home. He’s giddy enough at the (temporary) gift that it doesn’t embarrass him too much when he accidentally drops it when the bus goes a little too fast over a speed bump.

 

* * *

 

Keith taps his foot on the pavement, arms crossed over his chest as he waits impatiently. Shiro’s not late, not by a mile. He has approximately twenty minutes to get here and be exactly on time. However, Keith’s left work a little earlier than needed, and he knows Iverson is staring down at him from the window. The office is in a heavy industrial zone, so Keith doesn’t have any place to hide out.

Shiro arrives ten minutes early. He has barely pulled over when Keith is already opening the backseat door and throwing in his duffel bag. He’s texted Lance to bring his bowling shoes since they are roughly around the same size, and Lance has both agreed to bring them and to consider maybe washing them. Keith’s packed a bottle of disinfectant, just in case.

“Ready for the best weekend of your life?” Shiro asks, and Keith shakes his head. “Aw, c’mon. It’s going to be great.”

“I’m nervous,” Keith admits, understating the truth by a mile. “But I’m excited.” 

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Shiro says as they pull out of the parking lot. “We’ve got a solid team.” 

Keith’s continuously thankful for the consistent amount of faith Shiro shows in him. However, this time he can’t fully appreciate it, as he remembers briefly a game he played at Bowlivan’s where only two shots weren’t gutter balls.

The competition is four hours away, and Keith and Shiro sing along to the same ten songs for all of those hours. Their road trip playlist changes once every year or two, and they share a belief that rest stops are for the weak. Keith is a loud eater, while Shiro likes to take “scenic routes” that end up costing them more time than a normal route would. There’s a reason that they have been assigned to carrying equipment, while the others piled into Allura’s RV; together, Keith and Shiro are completely insufferable on a road trip to everyone but each other.

The early autumn sun hangs low on the horizon as they pull up to the hotel that they are staying at. According to Hunk, in the past they would cram into one room at whatever motel was the cheapest, but now that they are working adults, Shiro and Allura insist that they take their luxuries where they can.

The gang reached approximately an hour before Shiro and Keith did, and they’re already drunk at a pub across the street from the hotel. Keith and Shiro dump their bags on the beds and take five minutes to freshen up before heading out. Shiro insists that Keith wear the _TEAM BOWLTRON_ shirt out. He says he’ll wear his to match, and the entire team will be wearing theirs too, and Keith offers the alternative option of setting the shirts on fire.

He’s glad that he rejected the idea of wearing the shirt, because when he gets to the pub, everyone’s dressed in their normal clothes. He glares at Shiro as the other man laughs. Keith pointedly takes a seat in between Allura and Hunk at their table.  Not that it matters, because he has to get out again from the booth when Hunk has to go to the washroom. On autopilot, the group moves over and Keith takes his seat beside Shiro.

Coran orders them a round, and they all clank their pints together for good luck in the upcoming tournament.

Shiro orders them another round, and they do the same. When Allura orders them _another_ round, Keith chugs half of it before swapping it with Shiro’s empty glass while no one’s looking. He can feel the warm buzz start to seep through his limbs, and he doesn’t want to get tipsy or drunk this evening lest he do something significantly embarrassing.

“To Bowltron,” Hunk loudly announces, and the team repeats it with great gusto. Hearing so many people say it at a time embarrasses Keith, but his friends are pink and laughing so he joins in on the cheer anyways.

They attempt to play one round of darts at the pub, but Lance is both drunk and way too enthusiastic about throwing with his wrong hand. He almost nails a waiter, and the group finds themselves out on the street.

“Let’s go bowling,” Coran suggests, and Keith’s indignation is drowned out by a resounding chorus of approval. The town is apparently famous for having a disproportionately large amount of bowling alleys (and for being a supposed alien landing site in the fifties) so they only have to walk a few minutes. They end up at a bowling alley with a name that no one can pronounce, though Shiro does a noble attempt at sounding out all the U’s.

Events unfold in a way that, despite Keith having been able to predict them all along, still make him feel like a complete dumbass.

“What the fuck,” Lance starts. “Was _that_.”

“What the hell do you mean,” Keith grunts in return, trying to look as imposing as possible. It doesn’t work, because Lance is just giving him one hell of an unimpressed look.

“Guys,” Shiro says, trying to put an end to a conversation that has barely started. Keith admires Shiro stepping in, because Lance looks like he’s about to start a fight with Keith. Keith’s pretty much sober and yet he’s pretty sure they’ll get kicked out if him and Lance get into it.

“ _This_ is the person you want on your team?” Lance gestures wildly at Keith, and Keith smacks his hand away. He tries to flick Lance’s forehead, but Lance catches his fingers with his good hand and starts to bend them backwards.

“Enough,” Allura says, yanking Lance’s hand off an increasingly chagrined Keith.

Keith had tried—he had tried really, _really_ hard in the two games the group just played. He even managed to bowl a strike in his very first turn. Unfortunately, literally _every_ other turn he took, he bowled a gutter ball or knocked down a maximum of two pins. It seemed like whatever lessons Kolivan had given him had decided to stay back in their hometown.

Halfway through the second game, he had heard Lance ask Shiro how much experience Keith said he had with bowling, had heard Shiro parrot back the lie that Keith had told him, and had cringed hard when Lance let out a donkey-like laugh and said “ _Really now.”_

It’s now the end of the second game, and the team has realized that _this_ is how their fourth member actually plays. Hunk looks disheartened, Lance looks annoyed, Allura and Shiro look diplomatic at best, and Coran is so plastered that he thinks Keith’s entries are glitches and Keith hasn’t actually played in the game yet.

“Everyone has a bad game,” Shiro tries to appease Lance, but Lance shakes his head.

“This,” He says, and Keith can smell the shots of whiskey waft under his nose as Lance pokes his index finger into Keith’s chest. “Is going to fuck us over for the competition.”

“You have three seconds to remove your hand,” Keith tells Lance, and Lance gets a look like he’s ready to antagonize Keith even more but Allura steps in, removing Lance’s hand for him.

“Relax,” She says and Lance huffs. “Don’t get all up in arms about it.”

“Thanks,” Keith starts, but Allura continues on.

“It’s okay if Keith completely sucks,” Allura says as primly as she can despite not quite being able to stand upright.  “We can still place fifth, maybe.”

“High hopes,” Lance gripes. “How are you good at everything _but_ this?”

Keith crosses his arms over his shoulder, and glares at Lance. Lance returns the look with equal vehemence, and Keith faintly remembers the one time they got into a petty slap-fight in university. They were roommates, and Keith accidentally ate the special yogurt mix Lance had been saving as an organic face mask. This situation has a similar amount of dark energy.

There is tense silence and then— 

“Did you just compliment Keith?” Hunk asks, and the two turn to him. “Dude.”

Lance sputters, and that starts a whole new round of protests. Eventually they settle into another game, one which Keith sits out. Shiro tries to sit it out in solidarity as well, but Keith insists he plays; Shiro keeps giving his turns to Lance, who bowls with great gusto despite bowling from his opposite hand.  

“Everyone has a bad game,” Shiro says, trying to rub Keith’s shoulders in a comforting manner as they sit and watch Hunk land a neat strike. He drunkenly applies a little too much pressure, shaking Keith, who allows himself to be flopped around while he wears a miserable expression.  

Shiro bowls the final turn in their game and gets a spare. The group whoops, and the entire ordeal of Keith completely sucking is forgotten to everyone.

Everyone but Keith, who props a drunken Shiro up while watching the rest of the group depart in the hotel lobby.

If someone had told Keith a month ago that he’d be getting twisted over _bowling_ of all things, he would have stone-faced them before ignoring them completely. Now, he’s having an internal crisis as he hits the button for the elevator. 

He herds Shiro into their room on the third floor, helping him kick off his shoes. He forces Shiro to brush his teeth, splash some cold water on his face, and take a glass of water with an ibuprofen. Shiro starts shucking his clothes off till he’s down to his boxers, and grabs a shirt from the duffle bag on one of the beds. Keith doesn’t have the energy to point out that it’s Keith’s duffle bag that Shiro has pilfered the shirt from. He instead watches the black material stretch over Shiro’s broad chest before Shiro shoves the bag off the bed and flops down onto the mattress.

“Keith,” Shiro says, voice muffled as he mumbles into the pillow. “ _Keith_.”

“What?” Keith asks, hauling Shiro’s duffle bag off the other bed and pulling back the comforter. Shiro props his head up and watches Keith dust the bed. 

“’S okay if you’re shitty,” Shiro says. “I still love you.”

“You better,” Keith says grumpily, and Shiro gives him a lazy smile. Keith has to look away, because it’s one thing to say that now, when alcohol is sitting warm in Shiro’s belly, but it’ll be a whole different story tomorrow morning at the tournament when Keith washes out completely. While Shiro attempts to be diplomatic and pretends that “I’m in it for the fun and friends!” is his life motto, Keith knows that he’s got as much of a mean competitive streak as anyone else. He’s just excellent at disguising it.

Keith changes into his own pajamas, brushes and tucks himself in. Shiro’s still awake, humming to himself when Keith turns off the light.

 

* * *

 

 

The idea wakes Keith up in the early morning. It’s six thirty, and he has approximately forty-five minutes till his actual alarm goes off, but Keith is _starving_. He also may or may not have a solution to his bowling dilemma. Keith gets dressed quietly, not wanting to wake Shiro up.

He debates for a second where to go first; the continental breakfast downstairs, or to Coran’s unnecessarily lavish top floor hotel room. When the elevator arrives, he chooses the second option, because if he goes down to eat he’ll just end up putting off what is probably going to be an uncomfortable conversation.

Keith expects to be standing in front of Coran’s door for a while, knocking till the sound pulls the other man out of his heavy, post-partying slumber. Instead, he raps three times before a bright eyed Coran swings the door open. He’s wearing a plush blue robe, has a newspaper in his hand, and generally looks like he’s staying at a place that’s barely above the qualifiers for being a motel.

“Keith!” He greets cheerfully. “You’re up early.” 

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Keith says, and Coran swings the door open. In the living area of his hotel room, there is a sizeable breakfast spread.  Keith’s stomach rumbles a little, but he’s determined to get his words out before he chickens out.

“Help yourself,” Coran says, gesturing to the table. They both take a seat on the couch, and Keith lets Coran dole out hash browns and two sausages onto a plate for him before he begins speaking.

“I don’t think I can bowl today,” Keith says, more to his plate than to Coran. “Can you play in my place instead?”

Coran frowns at Keith.

“Why?” He asks, buttering a piece of nearly burnt toast for himself. “Did something happen?”

“The team needs to win,” Keith says. “And I’m not the person that can help them.”

“You know that I don’t compete anymore,” Coran says gently, despite eagerness starting to bleed into his voice.

Coran only plays recreationally now, mostly because he spends his free time helping Allura’s dad run Alleys of Altea. From what Shiro has told Keith, both Coran and Alfor were professional bowlers that operated with a small amount of fame. Coran always insists that if he were to participate in a league competition, it would be monumentally unfair to everyone else. He’s happy carting them around to tournaments in the RV and coaching them and now that Keith thinks about it, Coran would have been a great person to get covert bowling training from.

“Please,” Keith begs. “I don’t want them to crash and burn. I know how much this tournament means to them.”

Coran gives him a funny look, and Keith forks a couple of hash browns in his mouth to avoid talking any further.

“I know you packed your gear,” Keith adds, ignoring the little fleck of potato that lands on his shirt. Coran nods thoughtfully, and the glint in his eyes tells Keith that he has him sold.  Coran tries to press Keith a little further to find out his full reasoning, but Keith remains tight lipped. Eventually, Coran gives up and puts on the television, and they sit in comfortable silence while Keith finishes his breakfast.

“Are you absolutely _sure_ ,” Coran asks Keith as he sees him out the door, and Keith nods.

He heads towards his hotel room and when he opens the door, Shiro’s on the floor doing push ups. 

“Mornin’,” Shiro calls out as Keith enters the room. Keith walks over to where Shiro’s working out and places a foot on his bare back, applying pressure. Shiro continues on like nothing happened.

“Do hangovers not exist for you?” Keith asks and Shiro laughs a little breathlessly before fully extending his arms in the last push up and moving into a plank.

“How come you’re up so early?” Shiro asks while Keith digs around his duffle bag, looking for his wallet.

“I had to talk to Coran,” He says, re-zipping his bag and pocketing his wallet. “He’s going to take my spot in the competition.”

Keith nearly jumps when he turns around, because Shiro’s standing right behind him, sweaty and shirtless and giving him an utterly confused look.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks, voice starting to tinge with a little concern and Keith freezes. “Did something happen?”

Keith side steps Shiro and heads to the door, but Shiro follows him.

“Nothing happened,” Keith says, opening the door and stepping out.

“Keith,” Shiro begins, reaching out to place a hand on Keith’s shoulder.  “You can tell me.”

“You saw how I played yesterday,” Keith scratches the back of the head. “That’s how I play regularly. I’ve been practicing all week and I still play like shit so I don’t want to let the team down.”

“You’ve been practicing all week?” Shiro frowns. “Where?”

“At Bowlivan’s,” Keith says, hating how the name punctures the tense moment. God, he never wants to look at another bowling-related name again. “I took lessons from the owner and I’m terrible.”

“Keith, it’s okay,” Shiro starts. “You’re probably not that bad. You’ll have more fun today, and you’ll probably end up doing better too— “

“I’m not going to have fun publicly embarrassing myself,” Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “And then Lance won’t shut up about it either.”

Shiro opens his mouth, but Keith’s a little on the edge now so he cuts him off before he can begin to speak.

“I’m only doing this because _you_ asked,” Keith says, and Shiro looks a little crestfallen. _That_ sends off a little dose of panic through Keith, so he immediately tries to clarify it. “Not saying that you forced me. I mean that I’m only doing this because I really like you.”

Keith’s brain comes to a screeching halt because that was decidedly _not_ what he was trying to tell Shiro. The redder Keith’s face involuntarily gets, the quicker any hope of Shiro seeing the comment as platonic dies. Of the multiple confession scenarios Keith has mulled over in his head, telling Shiro he likes him while he gets ready to drop out of a bowling competition he had no business in being in in the first place has not been any of them.

Hence, instead of exchanging anything coherent with Shiro, who is standing with his eyebrows raised and his mouth in a silent ‘o’, Keith turns on his heel and speed walks – because running would have been a little _too_ much – towards the elevator.

“Good luck!” He calls out as he turns the hall, and Shiro just raises a hand in return.

  

* * *

 

 

The tournament starts roughly an hour after Keith leaves Shiro in their hotel room, and will last till the late afternoon. Keith knows he should probably go cheer his team on, but he doubts that the audience turnout for these things are that high. If his team spots him, all hell will probably break loose. Lance has already sent him a slew of angry text messages, Hunk and Allura have both asked him if he’s _sure_ that he doesn’t want to play, and there’s been radio silence on Shiro’s side.

Keith doesn’t feel as relieved as he thought he would; he feels like a quitter, like he’s being contradictory to his own character. He tries to lighten up by telling himself that at least he doesn’t have to send gutter ball after gutter ball down the lane in front of tens of people, nor does he have to wear Lance’s crispy bowling shoes.

To kill time, Keith decides to explore the town they are staying at on foot. It’s got a population of three thousand, and yet everywhere Keith turns, he sees a bowling alley and guilt tugs at his belly. He remembers that the town has a space-alien museum, because Shiro had been expressing disappointment over not having time to go during the tournament. A quick check on his phone tells him the museum is just under an hour walk away from the hotel, so Keith sets out on his way.

He has notifications on for any social media alerts about the bowling tournament. It’s not huge, but the participants and the fan base present is fervent. There also seems to be more attendees than Keith thought,

Apparently, Coran showing up as a player is a Big Deal, because Keith counts five whole Instagram posts people make announcing the return of the Gorgeous Man, Coran. In one of them, Hunk is feeding Lance a milkshake while Shiro looks like he’s mid sneeze as Allura talks to him. Coran’s in the forefront, bowling ball in hand, wearing a _TEAM BOWLTRON_ shirt with its sleeve’s cut off. Keith feels a faint pang in his heart and tucks his phone away as he approaches the museum.

He manages to kill a good majority of his day at the museum, as it is significantly more in-depth than he originally thought. It’s two stories tall, and has an entire room dedicated to positing what kind of reaction extraterrestrial life forms will have when they inevitably discover the town sport of bowling. It’s great, and Keith manages to distract himself just a little. He gets a kid to take a picture of his head poking out through the face hole of a giant cardboard cut-out of a purple alien. He sends it to Shiro, and Shiro sends a _:^)_ back. It’s the first Keith’s heard from him all day, and he texts a _good luck!!_ to Shiro.

He’s finished the alien museum and is standing in a line for the hot dog vendor across the street when his phone pings with a new alert. It’s Lance retweeting an announcement from the official Bowls of Marmora tournament, announcing that Team Bowltron has moved on to the semi-finals tomorrow.

The news makes Keith smile a little and makes him feel just a little better about having dropped out. There’s also an online bookie for this tournament and he’s placed $5 on the team, so he figures he stands to make a little money as well.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith’s sitting in the town’s lone library, a building the size of a shoebox, when he gets a text from Allura.

 _Where are you?_ It reads, and Keith taps back a reply with his location. _Cool, me and Coran are coming to pick you up._

There doesn’t seem to be any room in that text for Keith to tell Allura that he’s perfectly fine hiding out in the library till closing time. Even if there was, the chances of Allura actually listening are slim to none, so Keith sits back with a stack of Archie comics and waits. 

He gets a text from her telling her to come out, and when he does, his heart almost drops to the floor because he sees Shiro’s black Nissan pulled up to the curb. But when the windows roll down, it’s only Coran with Allura in the driver’s seat.

“We’re going to go get pizza,” Allura says. “Get in.” 

“With the rest of the team?” Keith asks, squinting a little and Allura rolls her eyes.

“No Keith,” She says flatly. “You and I are going on a date. Coran’s here to chaperone.”

“Sounds like fun,” Keith says, ignoring her groan as he slides into the back. “Are you sure they want to see me though?”

“We’re on a high from the win,” Coran says, turning in his seat. “But also, why wouldn’t they want to see you?”

“Because he ditched the team,” Allura supplies helpfully as they pull out of the parking lot. “Without fully explaining why.”

“I told Coran why,” Keith replies, sounding a little defensive. “And it looks like it was a good idea. You guys got into the semi-finals, right?”

“Yeah but everyone’s upset you weren’t there,” Allura says.

“You would have been more upset if I played,” Keith replies and Allura huffs.

“You could have at least showed up,” She says sharply. “Instead of moping around on the opposite end of the town.”

Keith cringes, because the thought _had_ crossed his mind. He opens his mouth to give his excuse, but the more he thinks about it, the more it falls apart in his head. Allura glares at him from the rear-view mirror, but something in his expression must look truly tragic, because her face softens a little.

“We want you there even if you don’t want to play,” Allura says, voice more gentle. “You’ve made the trek with us, so you’re a part of our team now. I can tell you right now that literally no one cares that you lied about your bowling experience.”

“It’s always useful to have an extra cheerleader,” Coran adds. “Boosts team morale! Back in the day, Alfor and I always made sure we had an entourage when we played.”

“And a fan base,” Allura says. “We had a couple of people recognize Coran today. It was pretty cool.”

“Shiro gained a lot of attention too,” Coran says a little slyly. “Lots of people wanted a picture with him, despite the fact that we just won the preliminaries.”

Keith knows exactly why people would want a picture with Shiro, and probably only a small percentage has to do with actual bowling. Not that Shiro isn’t good enough to be recognized in his own right; the man just evokes a primal response in everyone wherever he goes.

Keith decides that maybe he will show up to the bowling tournament tomorrow after all.

 

* * *

 

They arrive at an extra-terrestrial themed pizza parlour. Keith briefly wonders what the wealth of the town is, and how much of it comes from the concept of both bowling and aliens.

The team is grouped around a giant circular table shaped like a flying saucer, three pizzas already out on the table. They’ve all changed out of their bowling uniforms, which Keith personally feels is a great shame. 

“Where have you been?” Lance demands as Keith approaches the table. “How come you didn’t come out?”

“I got abducted,” Keith replies, taking the seat beside Hunk. “Allura found me in a cornfield.”

Lance laments that the aliens should have just kept Keith. Lance also plates two slices of pizza for Keith, so Keith knows there’s no actual bad blood between them. 

No one’s given Keith any funny looks, and Lance hasn’t made any out of pocket comments, so Keith assumes that Shiro hasn’t told anyone about their full exchange this morning. In the car with Allura, a seed of nervousness had started to grow in Keith that maybe Shiro hadn’t taken his confession all too well. Keith’s confident in himself, but he’s never fooled himself into thinking that he can accurately predict someone else’s reaction. 

But the man in question is sitting directly across from Keith, and gives him a soft smile. He doesn’t say anything, but he bumps his leg against Keith’s, and Keith’s heart blooms.

“Gross,” Hunk comments from beside him, and Keith elbows him before shoving half a slice of pizza into his mouth.

Keith thinks the team’s going to give him a hard time for not showing up, but aside from Lance verbally strong arming Keith into promising that he’s going to show up at the tournament tomorrow, the team’s more focused on ordering more pizza and deciding where they should go at night to celebrate the fact that they’ve gotten into semi-finals.

“I think I’m going to take an early night,” Shiro announces as he hands his credit card to the waiter. “I can’t do this two nights in a row.”

“Suit yourself old man,” Lance says. “Keith? I feel like you owe us drinks after ditching us today.”

“Sure,” Keith says easily and digs his wallet out. He slides two twenties to Lance, who accepts it silently and does not pester Keith about coming out again.

The group parts, Coran taking both Shiro’s keys and the mantle of designated driver. They are just a twenty-minute walk away from their hotel, so Shiro and Keith insist that they don’t need a ride back. Keith and Shiro wave off their friends as they drive away before turning to each other.

Keith wants to waste no time, so he gets to the point immediately.

“I’m sorry about running away this morning,” He says. “I panicked.”

Shiro bumps his shoulder. “Want to hear about the tournament?”

Keith takes it as an acceptance of his apology, and they set off together in the cool night air. Shiro tells him about Hunk bowling the best game he’s ever bowled in his life, and the cheer that Lance had made specifically for him. He talks about Allura heckling the other teams like a pro, and Coran making absolutely everyone at the competition look terrible because, well, he _is_ a pro. Apparently Coran is the main reason they advanced to the semi-finals in the first place. Shiro’s determined to see this competition through, but he’s also happy that they’ve made it this far. 

It’s not till they make it back to their hotel, safe and warm in their room, that Shiro brings up what had happened in the morning.

“So,” He starts, sitting on the edge of one of the beds as Keith kicks off his sneakers. “This morning was a lot.”

“Sorry for ditching you,” Keith says, genuinely apologetic. “I have no idea why the thought of bowling sends me into a panic.”

“For the record, none of us actually care if you’re good at bowling or not,” Shiro informs him. “It’s a big tournament, but it’s league bowling. We’re up against PTA parents and retirees.”

“I just feel bad for lying,” Keith says. “And for disappointing you, and probably the entire team when they found out.” 

It’s Keith’s bed that Shiro’s sitting on, so Keith stands over him, waiting. Shiro doesn’t move.

“I get how you feel,” Shiro says gently. “But I’m pretty sure it’s just a little disproportionate to the situation. Have you _heard_ our team chant?”

“I don’t want to,” Keith grumbles. “And it is serious to me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m absolute _shit_ at bowling.”

“What,” Shiro says, tugging on the front of Keith’s shirt. Keith swats his hands away, and Shiro grins. “Mad you weren’t automatically good at something?”

“Shut up,” Keith says. “It’s not my fault it’s a stupid game.”

“It’s a good sport,” Shiro insists, and Keith shakes his head. “But back to this morning. I feel like there’s something else we need to address.”

Keith tries to get a read on Shiro, but his face is imperceptible. So Keith tilts his head, and pretends to play stupid.

“What?” He asks.  “The fact that I lied about being able to play despite knowing how much you cared, and ended up letting everyone down?”

Shiro blinks and okay. Keith may have laid it on a little _too_ much there, but he’s still feeling just slightly agitated over his own actions.

“Jesus, Keith,” Shiro says, frowning at him. “I don’t care about the bowling. I mean—I care about it, but it’s definitely not the most important part of the morning.” 

“No?” Keith raises his eyebrows, and Shiro catches on that his outburst was dramatic only for show. The small smile that creeps across Shiro’s face makes Keith heart beat a little faster.

“I’m more interested in the part where you said you’re doing this because you liked me,” Shiro says, and Keith can feel his face start to burn. 

“Slip of the tongue,” He says, crossing his arms over his chest and trying his best to stand tall and not hunch over. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shiro says, and reaches forward to slide a thumb through one of the front belt loops of Keith’s jeans. He tugs gently, and Keith follows till he’s close enough that he does have to slouch a little. 

Keith looks down at Shiro’s beaming face, and his cranky demeanor starts to crumble because this. This is it. Keith feels a little elated that his feelings are reciprocated—he’s not stupid, he’s been able to read the signs for a while, but Keith always reserves a bit of doubt in case he ends up being wrong. There’s only one thing Keith would change about this moment, because all things said and done—

“I can’t believe this is happening at a bowling competition,” Keith groans and Shiro lets out a laugh.

“Hey now,” Shiro admonishes gently. “Bowling tournaments are cool.”  

“Whatever,” Keith says, allowing Shiro to tug him down. He crouches awkwardly for a second and Shiro rolls his eyes before pulling him onto his lap completely, the bed creaking underneath them as he _finally_ coaxes Keith into a kiss. Keith tries not to pour his affection into it all in one go, but it’s a hard feat to accomplish when the person he’s been pining after for ages is kissing him like the feeling’s been mutual all along. 

Shiro’s hand slides over Keith’s ass to cup it and for some god forsaken reason, Keith briefly hears Kolivan’s voice ring through his head, giving him tips on how to properly cradle the ball before sending it down the wooden lane. In his mind, he hears Kolivan grunt out a “ _c_ _aress it like it means the world_ ” as Shiro smooths a hand over his jeans and Keith— Keith wants to die.  He makes a noise at the intrusive thought and Shiro pulls back with a questioning look.

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks, searching Keith’s face. Keith realizes that he probably has a look of supreme discomfort on, and he’s not quite sure how to explain to Shiro that it has absolutely nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the fact that during their first kiss, Keith was thinking about bowling. 

Since Keith’s not sure what to say, he presses forward and kisses Shiro again with zeal. This time Keith wills his mind to go blank and just to focus on how quickly Shiro’s adapting to kissing him in a way he likes, how quickly he’s learning what makes Keith lean in just a little more. It makes Keith go incredibly weak.

As soon as Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, Shiro flips them over onto the bed and presses Keith into the mattress, and they both forget about bowling for a while. 

 

* * *

 

 

A shrill ringing pierces the room, and Keith groans and rolls over to turn off the alarm on his phone. Except it’s not his phone. It’s Shiro’s, who is already propped up on the headboard and scrolling through his phone, letting the alarm blare. 

“Turn it off,” Keith complains and pokes Shiro in the side.

“It’s time to get up,” Shiro says, weaving fingers through Keith’s hair. Keith raises his head off his pillow to give Shiro a bleary look.

“It’s six in the morning,” He states and Shiro nods.

“I thought we could go out before the tournament,” Shiro says, tugging Keith’s hair gently before leaning in to kiss Keith’s forehead.

Turns out, Shiro constitutes “going out” as getting some of the continental breakfast from the hotel lobby before dragging Keith to the nearby bowling alley.

“I’ll teach you how to bowl,” Shiro offers outside and Keith grumbles something about shitty first dates. “This isn’t our first date. We’ll do that later.”

“This absolutely is our first date,” Keith huffs. “And I’m going to hold it against you forever.”

“Suit yourself,” Shiro shrugs, and Keith follows him into the building anyways. For the first game, Keith’s content to just sit on a plastic bench and watch Shiro play.

“This alley’s lanes are oiled similarly to the ones where our tournament is held,” Shiro says to Keith as he steps back from bowling a strike. “It’s good to practice here.” 

“It’s lanes are what now?” Keith asks faintly, and Shiro launches into a lecture about different oiling patterns and how they affect one’s game. It goes in one ear and out the other for Keith, but he pretends that he understands the relevance of it all. 

Shiro cajoles Keith into learning at least a couple of tips and tricks, and Keith grudgingly agrees to pick up the ball at least once.

Shiro’s different than Kolivan when it comes to teaching; Keith feels that it’s the lack of oddly sinister adages, but he also figures it has something to do with Shiro being significantly more hands-on. Kolivan had barked out instructions as he stood and watched Keith from beside the resurfacing machine. Shiro stood beside Keith, adjusting his body as he went, shifting Keith’s hands and poking his spine to correct his posture.

Keith also has the immediate need to impress Shiro with whatever he does, regardless of how bad he actually is at it, and he feels like that’s definitely playing into their practice. He’s ashamed to admit it, but he’s 99% sure the only reason he manages to actually bowl a spare is because he knows his reward’s going to be an overly excited hug from Shiro. The quick kiss that follows is just icing on the cake.

“See?” Shiro says encouragingly as Keith knocks down five pins again. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

Idly, Keith wonders that if he participates in the tournament, maybe he can be driven to moderate success just motivated by his thirst.

When they’re back at their hotel room, Keith contemplates wearing the team shirt. He’s only going as a cheer leader, and the shirt is still a total visual abomination. However, he sees Shiro tuck his own shirt into a neatly pressed pair of khakis and feels the need to act in solidarity. Wanting to preserve some dignity, Keith wears his over jeans, and throws a hoodie on top so that no one has to see the shirt until they are actually at the alley.

 

* * *

 

There are a lot of things Keith expects from the bowling tournament. He had spent a night reading about the rise and subsequent downfall of bowling as a competitive sport. As he understands it, while still extremely popular, bowling doesn’t have as much of the glitz and glamour around it as it used to. 

He expects the bowlers to outnumber the audience. He expects the playlist to be some poorly put together dance mix from the eighties. He expects there to be a strong smell of body odour and fried food. He expects to be the best dressed there. The team enters the alley, and Keith is wrong on almost all counts, because apparently in this town, bowling is as huge as they say it is.

The bowling alley is packed to the brim with fans, most of whom are on their way to being completely sloshed. Heavy bass rumbles through the floors. It still smells like body odour and fried food though, and Keith counts that as a small victory.

They get herded into a change room by one of the organizers, and Lance leads the team in a pre-game chant. Keith absolutely refuses to participate yelling out a “ _FORM TEAM BOWLTRON”_ , but he does mumble it under his breath. To the rest of the team’s delight, Keith pulls off his hoodie to reveal his team shirt. 

“You look a lot more relaxed today,” Allura says, elbowing Keith.

He smiles at her, and Shiro comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. It takes less than a fraction of second of Allura looking at Keith and Shiro’s matching and perhaps slightly disturbing smiles before a look of realization spreads across her face. She looks like she’s about to say a thousand different things, but is interrupted by Lance coming up from behind and clapping her back with his good hand.

“You guys look absolutely disgusting,” He says in lieu of a greeting. “I know what you did, and I hate it. Stop making it so obvious.”

“What did we do?” Keith asks innocently, and Lance rolls his eyes before closing them and pitching his voice a little higher. 

“Oh,” he does a breathy moan. “ _Shir-_ “

Allura claps a hand over Lance’s mouth before Keith can take the personal liberty of shutting him up.

“Are you going to bowl?” Hunk says, gesturing towards Keith’s shirt. “You’re finally wearing it.”

“I don’t want to take Coran’s place,” Keith says, looking over at the older man who is lounging on one of the change room benches, scrolling through his social media.

“I don’t think Coran would mind,” Allura says. “We’d all like to see you play, Keith.”

“Yeah,” Lance adds. “No matter how shitty you are. Though, you should be better now though, right? Power of the di-“

“Do not finish that sentence,” Shiro says sternly and Lance raises his hands in a placating manner.

“Okay, I’m done,” Lance says. “But no seriously Keith, you should play. I had to doodle an orange moustache over you in the team banner and people were asking questions." 

Keith’s about to open his mouth to ask what banner Lance is talking about, but one of the organizers rushes in and tells them they have a minute to get out on the lanes.

“I’m not playing,” He says, but it doesn’t sound as firm as he wants it to. Seeing his friends gathered around him, hands clasped together and eyes wide is making his stance waver. “It’ll be embarrassing.”

“That’s exactly why we want you to play,” Lance says and Keith gives him the finger.

“We should go,” Shiro says from behind, and starts herding out the team. Keith catches Coran’s eye, and Coran gives him a wink. Keith’s about to ask what it means, but then the glaring spotlight of the main concourse blinds him.

 

* * *

 

 

They lose the semi-finals, terribly so. 

Whatever Coran had for breakfast did not sit well with the man. He had broken out into a small sweat when they took to their lane, and was looking green as the announcer did their sponsor spiel.

“Keith,” Coran says and Keith starts shaking his vigorously. “There’s no other option, Keith. If we don’t have another player, we’re going to get disqualified.”

Keith’s read the bowling tournament rules and he’s pretty sure they’ll be fine. 

“I don’t have my bowling shoes,” He tells Coran, and Coran automatically starts kicking off his. “Just take some tums, you’ll be fine.”

Coran bends over, grasping his stomach as he wheezes. Keith looks a little alarmed, and grabs Coran’s shoulders to steady him. Shiro’s already gone up to bowl, and Lance is cheering him along with the rest of the audience, who seem to be enamoured by Shiro despite the fact that he’s the _only_ one on the team who’s tucked his shirt into his khakis. To be fair, Keith thinks Shiro looks good in anything and everything, so he can sympathize with the audience.

“You need to play,” Keith tries to sound encouraging, but it comes out as a panicked hiss. Coran frees himself from Keith’s grasp, and starts backing up, clutching his stomach. “Wait where are you- “

“Make me proud, Keith,” Coran’s voice sounds more like a pained moan at this point, and Keith’s about to fucking lose it. 

He shoots a pleading look at Lance, who waves his casted hand and shakes his head. The audience erupts into a loud cheer as Shiro bowls a strike. Hunk and Allura clap, while Lance lets out an enthusiastic cheer.

“Where’d Coran go?” Shiro asks, rejoining the team as Hunk goes up to the lane.

“He’s sick,” Lance says. “Keith’s stepping in." 

“Keith’s not,” Keith says, and Shiro’s face drops.

So when it’s time, Keith steps up to the lane. He has Coran’s ball in hand, and he thinks about the ball Kolivan had given him, that’s still sitting in the hotel room. He thinks about Kolivan in general, and the _good luck._ text that he had sent yesterday morning that Keith’s yet to reply to. He also thinks about Shiro, who beamed like the sun when Keith muttered a hesitant “fine” and slipped on Coran’s disgustingly warm bowling shoes. 

Keith bowls mediocre at best. Part of him wonders why he poured so much time into bowling lessons at Bowlivan’s, when he’s as shit at it now as he was before. Then Keith remembers the free cheese fries and how Shiro had a team shirt almost immediately made for him and he feels a little better about it. 

Even though Keith’s score is maybe a fourth of the rest of his team at best, they still won’t stop chanting his name with great gusto, drowning out the hecklers from the other teams and the audience.

 

* * *

 

Despite having to wake up at fuck-o-clock in the morning to drive home in time for work, the team goes out to celebrate their loss. The small participation trophy they’ve won sits in the center of their booth at the pub, and Lance has draped the banner across the table. It’s a blown up version of the same photoshopped image that had been used in the Facebook event, with _TEAM BOWLTRON_ emblazoned across it in terrible font. Lance had scribbled a muddy orange moustache across Keith’s face when Coran had stepped in, and has now crossed out said moustache with a black permanent marker.  Apparently he and Pidge had spent a week on making the banner, and Keith suddenly feels a little better about all the time he spent trying to learn bowling.

There’s already been a fight about who gets to keep the trophy, and Allura’s won on sheer determination. Lance is most likely going to attempt to steal it within the upcoming week, and its final resting place will probably end up being Shiro’s closet.

For now, they order a round of drinks, and Shiro pours a baby fishbowl into the trophy. The drink spills over the golden rim, and everyone at the table starts chanting Keith’s name. He does his best to chug it down, the three shots of vodka burning down his throat as he tastes the soda and cheap plastic.

“To losing,” Lance raises a toast and the rest of the table follows suit. “Mostly because of Keith.”

Coran’s at the table too because he claims that whatever had been ailing before has completely passed. Keith knows that Coran is a filthy, filthy liar.

“To losing,” Keith joins the rest of the team in the chorus, clanking his glass with the others. “Mostly because of me.”

Now that the tournament is over, the tension has started to slowly dissipate from within Keith. Like predicted, he did completely humiliate himself. His friends don’t hate him for it though, and they don’t blame him for being the reason they lost to an angry looking family team called The Bowlra. It’s over, and Keith can go back to never thinking about bowling.

“Does this mean you’re going to join our league now?” Shiro gives him an eager look and squeezes his thigh under the table.

Keith is absolutely not going to step foot into a pair of bowling shoes ever again, but that doesn’t stop him from softly smiling at Shiro and leaning in a little.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to C as always for reading and looking over my work I appreciate you encouraging me at stupid hours of the night.
> 
> comments/kudos are always appreciated and you can catch me at [@phaltu](http://phaltu.tumblr.com) on tumblr!!


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